


Dig

by the_accidental_horcrux



Series: INKTOBER [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Horror, Inktober, Murder, Serial Killer, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_accidental_horcrux/pseuds/the_accidental_horcrux
Summary: Hi Jon,I was emailing to enquire if you had any vertebrae for sale? I’m looking for some sturdy ones to use in a sculpture of mine.
Series: INKTOBER [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952683
Kudos: 1





	Dig

**Author's Note:**

> This was written entirely while i was high. Please check endnotes and heed the tags.

_ JonDBones _ was a niche business that didn’t generate a lot of customers. Which was fine for the collector, because his products took a lot to produce and prepare. The equipment alone costed him over a thousand dollars this year, not to mention packaging and shipping. His product could be fragile.

Luckily, he could get away with charging a hefty sum for what he collected, it was rare, and people didn’t have many options as a result.

> _ Hi Jon, _

An email begins,

> _ I was emailing to enquire if you had any vertebrae for sale? I’m looking for some sturdy ones to use in a sculpture of mine. _
> 
> _ Please ensure they are human-like, cow vertebrae or deer vertebrae are quite similar to human! _
> 
> _ Thank you in advance for your service, and I would appreciate pictures and a base price for these items! _
> 
> _ Best, _
> 
> _ Kathrine Funke _

The emails always start similarly, addressing Jon, and then they tend to vary thereafter.

Some, most, would ask where he got the bones, and he’d respond about his travels around the world, digging in the woods, and the ground, and donations. Others would ask for prices, and specifics. Some, a small few, would tell him he was being dishonourable to the creatures who had passed on. 

The weirdest ones were always the ones who insisted on demanding substitutions for whatever specific bone advertised on the shop website.

He was methodical. He prompt. He was exact.

He went on the hunt, though never killing the animals, only collecting their bones. His vast collection was staying steady in size, so it was easy to keep it all packed as he moves from location to location, never staying anywhere for too long.

There was only so much to collect in one stop, after all, without disrupting the fragile ecosystem in the communities he’d briefed.

Everything had to be balanced. It was the only way.

He responded back to his emails, making note of whatever type of bone he would need to restock soon, or keep an eye out for. That was the trouble of natural bones, they only existed while quantities lasted. 

Nobody ever asked him why he collected and sold bones, no one had asked him what made him do what he did.

If they ever did ask him, he’d say it was for the people who bought from him. There really weren’t many people who sold bones on the internet, with quality service and authenticity.

He’d say it was for the thrill of it, too, and the closure, of seeing something that was once alive, being slowly turned to dust. It reminded him of the impermanence of everything, how little matter his movements and choices really made.

He just wished everyone was as understanding as you. He only had to tie you up in the end, and not gag or drug you. You followed him to his trailer, parked by his truck, stowed with all his worldly possessions.

You followed him into the tiny space, so trusting and sweet for him. He was going to return the favour.

It was already too late when you noticed he had locked the door behind you, having already pressed a knife to your throat. You agreed not to scream, and he appreciates it. 

You’re one hundred and fifty miles from where he picked you up, and you’re just sitting in silence as he answers his email. 

> _ Yes, I would be able to get vertebrae that would pass as authentically human, how many do you need? It will cost minimum sixty dollars per bone, prices vary as you move from cervical, to thoracic, to lumbar, to sacrum, to coccyx. And beyond that, from numbers ascending, the prices will rise. _
> 
> _ When do you need them by, and where are you located? _
> 
> _ The collector _

He signed off as he normally did, then turned to look at you.

“Jon, right?” you ask, hands bound steady, yet shaking anyway. “Jon, we don’t have to do this.”

“My name’s not Jon,” he says, eyes scrunching up in annoyance, “why does everyone always call me Jon?”

You wonder if it’s a joke.

“It doesn’t matter. Yes, I do. No matter what, you’re going to leave here and tell on me so I get in trouble, and I can’t have that.” He states it matter-of-factly, eyes falling from your face to his tools.

“No, I won’t! I promise I’ll keep my mouth shut!” You’re crying now, and getting louder. You barely notice.

“You’re not being trusting or nice for me anymore,” he says, frown on his face. “Be quiet and stop crying.”

“ _ No! _ You can’t do this to me! I’m a person! I’m different from these animals you collect!” You’re begging now. He doesn’t like it.

“I said, ‘Be quiet,’ didn’t I? Shut up!” he says, pressing his knife against your throat.

But you’re already taking heaving breaths, on your way to hysterics. “No, stop please stop I’ll do anything, don’t kill me!”

And then there’s a warmth dripping down your front, and you don’t get it right away. His eyes are hungry as they look at you, but not for the reason you immediately think. No, you don’t realize he’s not looking at your chest, it’s that there’s something else to look at. 

The fire in your throat starts burning. 

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you try to raise your hand to feel what’s wrong, but you can’t.

That’s when you feel the smooth wetness, and you try to look down. That causes you to jerk in pain, trying to let out a cry. No sound comes out.

In fact, the action makes you choke, liquid rushing down your throat. Hot and coppery.

He’s watching you with a passion you hadn’t seen in the entire time you were with him, as you sit there and choke on your own blood.

There’s a fire in his eyes as he sees your head lolled to the side, making pitiful sounds, blood dripping from your lips now, too.

The headrush is overwhelming, the lack of air making you delirious. There’s no way for you to tell how long you’ve been dying, except the numbness of your limbs, their painful tingles now faded to nothing. The blood is still pulsing down your throat, soaking your front.

You don’t even have an ID card with you, and you have the feeling there isn’t going to be much left for people to find once he’s done with you. Nothing recognizable, at least.

Your final thought, as the black fades in forcefully, is one that makes you gurgle a chuckle.

_ So that’s what it meant _ .

You were going to be, just another…

…Jon Doe.

**Author's Note:**

> _WARNING: Blood, knives, throat-slitting, murder, serial killer, death, no closure_
> 
> soooo.... yeah. hope u enjoyed? lol uhhh


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